Salt of the Earth
by Jubalii
Summary: A gated community. Quiet days, restless nights. Murders in cold blood. Closed curtains and secret societies. But that's only the least of your problems, when you're trying to play Happy Families with a 15th century warlord.
1. It's Pronounced Para-diche

"I tell you, you're gonna _love_ the place. I've lived there for nearly forty years now, and it's got the best people." Seras smiled politely at the truck driver, fingering the hem of her sundress absently as she listened. He was a youngster, almost, his coveralls casually unzipped to show a faded black concert tee (probably an original, if Seras had to guess) and the moving company's hat turned backwards over his short brown hair. His eyes were the burgundy of a lesser vampire class, but instead of being dull they shown with an inner light and the boundless energy of a being stuck eternally at seventeen.

"Yeah, there's lots to do; no one's ever bored, really. There's a job for everyone, if they want it. Most men usually do, but there's lots of ladies that work too," he said assuringly, taking a drink from the fast food cup in his cupholder. Even without the red tinge to the liquid, there was no doubt about what it was. Seras could smell it from her seat. His straw made a loud, annoying sound as he sucked up air pockets. "Especially if they haven't adopted. It's really a paradise on earth, in my opinion. Wouldn't go back to living in a human city for the world."

"So this community… is more like a city?" Seras asked, not having to feign her curiosity. Ever since Sir Integra told her about the mission and the gated world that it took place in, she had been burning to know more about it. A utopian town of vampires that lived without having to hide themselves from humans sounded almost too ideal to be true. The driver gave a shrug before adjusting his hat so that the brim would stop hitting against the driver seat's headrest every time he moved.

"Town, city, what's the difference? It's got sidewalks and all, I mean. Not as big as London by any means. There's a bus transit, but no taxi service. It's got a metro station too, but no one really uses it because you have to be careful to make sure that humans don't get off by accident, so the train hardly comes. 'S gotta be ordered by special service, see. It's much easier to take the bus or rent-a-car for wherever you need to go." He scratched his stubbly chin. "Look, there's the gate now."

Seras saw that he was right. It looked no different than any of the other gated communities she'd seen before, quiet and unassuming with large plastered walls, the edges of roofs and trees peeking over them. This one was surrounded by woods to the south and east, and the last remnants of suburbs to the west. A ramp to get onto the highway lay just up the road, cars whizzing by, even though dawn was only an hour or two away. Beyond that, she could see first rays of sunlight peeking over the horizon, turning the spring skyline a grayish pink color.

The driver slowed to a stop and rolled down the window quickly, arm moving the lever in the absence of modernized car-window technology. He rested his elbow on the gap left by the window and cleared his throat. Seras could see the black mesh of a speaker, but no doorbell button. Still, someone must have heard the driver, since static crackled on the line before a woman spoke.

"Name and business?" the voice droned in a nasally, self-important tone. Seras could almost see her through the speaker, filing her red nails and blowing bubble gum between her crimson, slightly chapped lips as she tapped one heeled foot against the ground, not even bothering to peer through her cat's eye glasses at the video screen to see who it might be. The driver cleared his throat again.

"It's me! I finally got a moving day for the first time in forever!" he answered cheerfully. "There's a car coming behind me with more stuff, so let him in too. It's a four door Peugeot 305." There was a long pause, and then the _clickity-clack_ of impatient nails on a hard surface.

"A _what_?" the woman asked, her tone grating on Seras's ears. It didn't seem to bother the driver, or else he was simply used to it. He only sighed good-naturedly and shook his head.

"It's a red car, looks like it drove right out of 1985. You really can't miss it." There was an audible sigh, as if even the knowledge of this car was too much for the woman, and then a shrill beep. The doors to the community swung open slowly, gears grinding as though in need of an oiling, and the driver moved through. Seras heard them shut with a bang behind her, but her eyes were too focused on what was going on in front of her to even care.

For all intents and purposes, it really looked like any other town. They had immediately come across what appeared to be a downtown district, stretching as far down the road as she could see. The facades on the buildings and the picturesque cobbled walkways that lined the road were clearly more for aesthetics than practicality, creating the illusion of a street from the late 1800s. Planted in intervals along the roadway were cherry trees, their delicate pink buds trembling in the early morning breeze. In the waning moonlight, they looked more like falling snow as they drifted towards the ground. Some of the shops were still open, the lights from inside spilling out onto the sidewalk and illuminating the fallen buds.

The driver had to slow even more to merge with traffic already creeping through the street, pausing often as the lights changed up ahead. Seras took the opportunity to stare with interest at the shops, intending to come and stroll along the cobblestones herself as soon as possible. The shopfronts were old-fashioned, with large window displays bursting with springtime blooms and pastels. Their signs either hung from rusty chains from the overhangs above, or were chalkboard stands that stood in front of the open doors. Only one or two of the biggest ones had signs on the building itself. Seras supposed this might have made it easier for small businesses to move around, only having to swap signs.

She noticed a jewelry store first and looked past it, not wanting to tempt herself with something she probably couldn't afford. The next was a clothing store—well, the sign said something about textiles—but it looked more like a theatre company's storerooms. She could see large skeins of fabrics through the open doorway. The front display was a beautiful sky blue ball gown with ruffles and lace for days; it was beautiful, but looked like it was stuck in the wrong century. On the driver's side of the street, she spied a more modern clothing store with headless mannequins in the latest fashions, arms poised to hold their leather bags aloft proudly.

They inched along and Seras saw now a greengrocers. She was caught off guard, wondering why vampires might need a grocery store, but after seeing the baskets of ripe plums and rosy apples she changed her mind. Her mouth watered as she saw the peaches in the window, along with a sign declaring them to be shipped from somewhere-or-other. She hadn't had an actual peach since she'd been turned, but she thought she could remember the taste. A vampire could technically eat fruit, or drink the juices, depending on how sensitive their stomachs were. Some could only sip diluted apple juice while other, heartier people could gorge on grapes like a Roman emperor and not feel any side effects. Seras only _ate_ them as a treat, something for holidays and birthdays. But there was always a well-stocked cupboard of fresh juice for her in the kitchens at Hellsing, as a snack to tide her over until her actual meals.

Then there was a four way intersection. Seras noticed a cinema next to an impressive cathedral that dwarfed the shops. The digital clock on the truck's dashboard flipped to 3:00 am and she heard the bell tower sing out the same above them. Looking across to the driver's side of the street, she saw a shoe store and another jewelry store, this one less impressive as the last but with a beautiful pearl necklace in the window. Just beyond the left side of the intersection she could see a footbridge. People were strolling across it, silhouetted by streetlamps somewhere beyond the bridge, but it was too far away to see if it stood over road or water. They turned right and Seras saw row upon row of patios and umbrella tables. There was a pub, an arcade, a café with a lush patio, and at the end of the street a massive restaurant with a rooftop garden.

"That's the most expensive restaurant in town," the driver noted. "I've been there twice, and it's _amazing_ ," he gushed. "The steak is so good, and I had a bite of filet mignon too, and—" He stopped when he saw Seras's incredulous look. "What? Haven't you eaten meat since you've turned?" he asked in disbelief. She shook her head slowly. "It's, uh, like sushi. They serve it raw, but it all tastes different because of the…." He faltered when she eyed him even more strangely. "Haven't you had sushi before?" he asked now, eyes wide. Again, Seras shook her head. "How about tartare?"

"No, I can't say that I have. Even before I became a vampire, raw meat wasn't high on my list of things to try."

"What?! No, you gotta try it!" he assured her. "It's so good! It's a lot different than regular blood, of course, but that's the best part of it! You can get it minced up or even blended if you don't think your stomach can handle the whole chewing thing. I mean, I assume you can eat fruit, right? Or can you?"

"I can… but if I couldn't handle a whole one, I doubt eating a steak milkshake would be _more_ appetizing," Seras replied, her stomach churning at the mere thought. The driver shrugged and they lapsed back into silence as they passed through the restaurants and into what looked like an office district. It was more modernized; all steel and plate glass. The squat two and three story buildings were sitting side by side with hardly any breathing room between them, the sidewalks defaulting back to boring squares of concrete with small shrubs fenced in behind wrought iron rather than budding trees. She noticed the bus stations for the first time, sitting on the corners with small advertisements and a time schedule behind the glass rain barriers.

She began noticing the people, too. While downtown they'd been a walking myriad of colors and styles more suited for a convention of some sort, here they were almost all in suits and business casual wear. Men and women stood at the stations or walked along the sidewalks, talking in groups to each other or on mobiles as they juggled paperwork and briefcases. She wondered briefly what sort of job her 'husband' might get—Captain Bernadotte laughed mockingly in her mind every time she thought about it, but hadn't given a snarky comment after she'd told him to cram it before she left the manor. _I hope to God it's something that keeps him occupied; it'll be hell to pay at home if he's got some boring desk job._

"That way," the driver noted, pointing to a road branching to the right, "leads to the factories. There's a couple, but nothing like a larger city. The industrial gate is that way too, but only lorries use it. This road we're on goes to the housing districts, and then the countryside beyond that." They were heading up a winding road that was becoming more and more hilly by the minute. She saw other roads branching off of it and the roofs of houses below, as well as the metal tops of more transit stations. They finally turned off onto one of the roads and she saw the fences and gardens of countless houses. Another turn had them on a street facing the front rows of terraced brick townhouses.

It was before one of these that the driver finally stopped. Seras looked at the shining brass lettering above the mailbox: _35 Anchor St_. The driver jumped out, running around to open her door and help her down as well. The edge of her heel caught the metal foot bar and she slid, but the driver caught her and between the two of them she was safe, if not slightly embarrassed. She took a better look at the house, squashed between its two neighbors with only a slight change in brick pattern to discern where one stopped and the next began. The upper story had a picture window, the edge creating an overhang to keep rain off the front door.

The windows were white-glazed and dusty, looking out at the street with a lonely, empty gaze. The casings were streaked with rain spots, and one of the shutter hinges on the upper story was broken. It looked particularly sad next to its neighbors; the house on the left had the shades drawn, but they were a pretty shade of blue and colored up the panes, and the one on the right had an orange tabby cat siting in the lower window next to a pot of daises, tail flicking with lazy interest as it watched the moving van with its unblinking gaze. Seras looked down at the stairs leading to the front door, which were caked with dirt and cracked in one spot. She frowned, already cataloguing what she would have to do to clean up the outside of the house. _I hope the inside is a little cleaner._

The front door opened and two men stepped out, both dressed like the driver though their hats were the right way and their coveralls were zipped up properly. One was older than the other, streaks of silver mixed in with the brown of his hair and crow's feet at the edges of his eyes. He held himself at an angle, as though his back hurt him. The other one could have been his son, looking almost the same as him, only decades younger and with the appearance of a strong middle aged man. The elder spoke, his words coming in a thick Cumberland accent.

"You made it alright then? I'm surprised he got the truck here in one piece," he added in an undertone to the other man. The other grinned and shrugged, clearing the steps in two hops and holding out his hand for Seras to shake.

"Hullo," he said in a quiet, gentle tone, and Seras recognized him as the one she'd spoken to on the phone when setting up the 'move'. "We've cleaned up the place a bit while we waited on you; no one's lived here in quite a few years. You can go have a looksee if you please, and then we'll get your things moved in," he explained in a professional voice. The driver was already at the back of the truck, fighting with the lock to the doors. The elder watched him for a moment before sighting and tottering down the stairs to help him.

"Yes, I will, thank you," Seras replied. The man nodded and went to help the others, who were scratching their heads at the lock, which seemed to have somehow gotten jammed. Seras heard the driver mention just ripping it off and replacing it as she went up the stairs, followed by the unmistakable sound of a palm hitting the back of his head in chastisement. She smiled to herself and walked through the threshold, looking around at the foyer of her new home. It was clear that they had been working to clean it up a smidgen, for the house smelled of wood polish and soap. The walls and floors were cleaned and shined; the ceiling looked as though it had been dusted as well, though she spied a few cobwebs hanging about in the stairwell.

There was an archway to her right and she stepped through it to see a kitchen, papered with flowery wallpaper and sturdy linoleum tiles. It was a modern kitchen with a microwave and oven, and a larger than usual refrigerator. Opening it up, she saw that there was no freezer part, only shelves on the top. She stared with surprise at the practicality of the bottom drawers; instead of the usual 'crisp, meats, cheeses' option, she had four drawers of A, B, AB, and O. She shut the door before too much cold could escape, walking to a smaller door and opening it to see basement stairs.

Walking back through the archway, she went past the stairs and down the hall. There was a small closet and an even smaller washroom both shoved beneath the stairs, and the end of the hall widened just enough for two doors. One had a half-glass and she peered out the grimy window to see that the backyard was as much in disrepair as the front. _Even if I won't stay here, I'm going to do something about the state of this place_ , she grumbled to herself, watching the wind knock a loose fencepost back and forth against its neighbor with a dull clacking sound. The yard was barren and the small stone patio was barely distinguishable beneath the dirt.

The other door opened into what she supposed must be the family room. It had been cleaned as well. The walls were painted a calm beige and she noted the windows were full west, keeping out sunlight. There was a dark, indistinguishable spot of something on the floorboards, but she could easily cover it. She left the room and met the three movers in the foyer. The driver took off his hat and scratched the short, spiked hair that lay beneath.

"Everything okay?" he asked. Seras nodded.

"Yes, it's nice and clean," she said, nodding at the walls. "Thank you," she repeated sheepishly, wondering how many more times she might say it before their job was done. The elder nodded and the driver grinned happily.

"Well then, we'll begin moving you in," the middle aged one replied before clapping his hands and turning to the other two. "Alright, let's get started. I'll get the sofa and the end tables, you two work on the boxes and the bed. Leave the…" His voice trailed away and became muffled as they walked back out the front door and into the truck. Seras moved to go up the stairs, fumbling and nearly falling when the handrail leaned instead of staying put like it should've. She glared at it and then continued up the stairs, testing out the balcony railing too before moving across the landing and down the smaller upstairs hallway.

There were three rooms up here. The first she entered was a larger bathroom, with a bathtub/shower and an impressive marble sink with two faucets. There was even a tiny crystal chandelier sparkling in lieu of a regular lightbulb. She reached up and brushed her fingers over the crystals, only to be met with a face full of dust. She coughed and wiped her nose, leaving the bathroom and walking into a small bedroom. From the looks of it, a child had once lived here. The wallpaper was a bright, cheerful pink with baskets of flowers decorating the banner along the top. She looked at the threshold itself, where something had been written in cramped, but neat lettering. Near her waist was a tiny tic with the word 'Sandra' written beside it. About her height was another tic with the word 'Mama', and near the ceiling a tic with the word 'Master'. Something about the trio of marks tugged at her heart and she imagined a family of three, Master and Childe, and… Mama. The vampire's mate? A beloved servant? Her real mother? It was a mystery, but Seras hoped that it was a happy mystery, with no tragic circumstance.

She closed the door, leaving the mysterious marks behind and entering the master bedroom instead. It was a dark red wainscoting, and she found the picture window. The previous owners had left a wooden curtain rod hanging above the window seat, but no curtain. The floorboards creaked beneath her heels as she walked over to the window and looked out. She saw the moving men scurrying about below, working far more efficiently than humans could. After all, each one of them could lift two or three pieces of furniture where it would take multiple humans to lift one piece by itself. She looked across the street to the row of houses on the opposite side, the darker bricks the only difference between them and her own row.

"Miss? Miss!" She ran back and leaned over the balcony railing, taking care not to trust it with her full weight. The driver looked back up at her, a far too familiar throne-like chair thrown upside down over his shoulder and a box labeled 'Seras's pictures' under his arm. "You wanna tell me where you want this stuff to go?" She felt a grin tug at her lips; motioning for him to bring it upstairs.

She hadn't been this excited about moving since graduating the Police Academy.

* * *

 _Why is this contestant beating on the podium?_

Seras opened her eyes and stared at the dusty eddies swirling through the room above her head. Blinking rapidly, she quickly realized that she wasn't in her bedroom and a stirring of panic ran through her chest before she remembered that she was on a mission and she was in her new home. Looking over, she saw the voice of her dream game announcer as the handsome, bright-toothed man on the telly; she faintly recalled turning the new appliance on as she had collapsed onto the new sofa for a 'breather' between unpacking boxes. But unlike in her dream, the real world contestant wasn't knocking on her podium with a clenched fist, so—

A loud, repetitive knocking interrupted her thoughts and she sighed, rolling over and nearly knocking her knees against a shining coffee table. Running a hand through her hair, she looked back down at the surprisingly comfortable sofa and wondered who on earth could be waking her up at this ungodly hour of the day. It was the vampire equivalent of three am, and she just wanted to sleep, dammit! She huffed and cracked her back as she rose, twisting her neck and rubbing one shoulder as she shuffled into the hall.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," she complained to the unseen knocker as she plodded towards the front door with a loud, jaw-cracking yawn. The light from the un-curtained front window spilled into the hallway, and she tried to avoid the hot wood hitting her sensitive heels. Even if she could stay in sunlight for prolonged periods of time, that didn't mean that it _felt_ good. It was more of an annoyance than anything else. Reaching the door, she stepped up on her tiptoes (apparently, peepholes were a luxury for the vertically gifted) and closed one eye to peer out at her unwelcome visitor. She got an eyeful of orange lens and black hair and pulled away, blinking in puzzlement. What on earth was he _doing_?

She shook her head and grumbled under her breath. She wasn't sure why her so-called 'husband' didn't get off his high horse and just phase into the house like he was often want to do. She might have been mortified to accidentally phase into the wrong house if she hadn't been sure of the address, but she doubted he would even care if he disrupted someone else's home with his 'royal presence'. On top of that, she wasn't sure if she'd had enough sleep to be able to deal with any attitude he might have…. Still, she opened the door and looked him over, seeing what she normally looked at every night, sans the goofy hat and crimson coat.

Looking past him, she saw the car parked at a perfect parallel to the sidewalk and not at a crooked angle like some of the other cars parked along the street. The sight of it made her strangely irritated. Of course he'd been presumptuous, even in driving. She was suddenly grateful that the driver had suggested she ride with him, despite however many daggers her former master had glared at her as she climbed up into the truck.

"What?" she asked rudely, leaning against the door. "You get lost?" He sure had taken his sweet time in getting here. She already had it in the back of her mind that he _would_ help her unpack, or at the very least climb the outside wall and repair the shutters for her. He frowned at her lack of tact, but before he could reply his eye seemed to be drawn by something else, staring at her chest for a long moment with a small frown pulling at the edges of his mouth. She looked down as well to see that the sundress had shifted during her impromptu sofa nap, showing just enough cleavage to be deemed improper as well as part of her bra.

She huffed and jerked the cloth back into place, lips pursed. She'd wanted one of her captains to go with her, but she knew very well why a human couldn't pose as a vampire in a town full of them. They'd be able to _smell_ the life on him the minute he passed those creaky old gates. But perhaps Pip could have been a good pretend-husband for her, if Sir Integra had just submitted to her constant pleading. But no, only _Alucard_ could suffice for this mission, the bloody prat. At least Captain Bernadotte ogled her loudly and openly so that she could properly upbraid him in return. When Alucard peeked (and she was sure that he did, more often than she could actually catch him at it), it was silent and subtle. It made it hard for her to bring it up, much less berate him for it. But it was no less embarrassing.

"What?!" she snapped in a louder tone, blocking the door with her body and glaring up at him. She waited for him to brush her aside like he always did, assuming authority and dirtying up the place with his boots rather than placing them next to hers on the cute little sunshine welcome mat she'd found at the thrift store for a discount. But he merely stared back at her, the orange sunglasses making it hard to read his emotion. He always wore that mask, even around her. And she couldn't read his thoughts anymore—not that she could have read anything he didn't want her to read. But she did find that it seemed to be easier for her to tell his moods than anyone else in the house, even Sir Integra. As the older woman had once stated, she seemed to 'understand him better, in some ways'.

"Let me in, Police Girl," he ordered, his chin tilting just enough that she assumed he was now staring at her eyes instead of her chest. The corners of his mouth fell a little more as she didn't move.

"Not until you tell me why you thought it'd be okay to bang down the door in the middle of the day," she scolded calmly, crossing her arms. "We have neighbors now, you know. You have to be quiet during the day and not stomp around like you normally do at night—we'll have the law called on us if you're loud." She rested her shoulder against the threshold. "We're not in the lap of luxury anymore." As she spoke, the sun rolled behind some clouds and cast them into shade, which Seras was thankful for. But it also cut the glare from his glasses and she saw that behind them, his eyes looked tired. _What can you expect? He's been driving all morning_ , she thought pensively, but something seemed off. "Have you eaten?" she asked hesitantly, now concerned. If he hadn't eaten before he left the manor, like she had, he had to be nearly weak with hunger by now.

"I'll be fine," he replied shortly, effectively answering her question. "Now let me in."

"You need blood," she told him. "No wonder you look so out of sorts. I bet you didn't eat anything before we left the manor either, did you? Just because the butler was too busy to bring it to you." She shook her head, clicking her tongue. "There won't be a shipment until tomorrow after we go to the Head Office, but I brought a cooler with me for a light breakfast. I'll split it with you," she offered. During all this, she finally realized that he _still_ hadn't made a single move to come in. She jiggled the doorknob impatiently, stepping back. "Well?"

"You have to invite me in," he growled, as though she were the stupidest girl on the face of the earth. She huffed again.

"It's your house, you bloody—" She bit her tongue, cutting her insult short. She was getting bad about her cheek, having been used to speaking her mind to everyone for the past thirty-plus years. She kept reminding herself that he wasn't one of her men, or the Captain, and he most likely wouldn't take her sharp tongue as pliantly as they would. Part of her was curious to see how much he would take; she was sure that he would appreciate—to an extent, at least—her boldness with him. But a mission wasn't the time to test boundaries. It was a time to act the part and get to the bottom of things so that she could go home.

"This is not my house," he replied in the same tone, peering at the way she decorated the foyer from his current spot on the stoop. "This place is your home, not mine." She sucked in a breath through her teeth before giving a tight smile and waving him inside.

"Enter freely and of your own _vill_ ," she drawled in a thick, over the top Transylvanian accent. She couldn't help it, knowing that it would get a rise out of him. He glared at her over the top of his glasses, stepping briskly through the door and deftly smacking her cheek with the back of his gloved hand as he passed. It didn't even sting, and she knew it was his version of the moving man's back of the head slap: more playful and teasing than true retaliation. . "You never have a problem storming other vampire's houses," she added impishly as she shut the door behind him and latched the chain above the knob for good measure.

"My master gives me the permission I need," he responded absently, looking almost curiously at his new surroundings. Sir Integra had given her unlimited funds and told her to go to buy a house's worth of furniture and decorations, giving her free reign on how it would look. She'd not had the chance do that since before she'd been turned, and never without the constant thought of how much she was spending. She'd bought a modest amount, barely a dent in the Hellsing budget, but she'd been able to make the whole house to her standards. Of course she'd thought about Alucard as well, a part of her wanting to stick him in a pastel nightmare just for spite and laughs. But in the end, she'd chosen pretty, yet practical furniture with a vintage touch. He seemed to approve, dismissing it with a small sniff before looking her over again.

"She does not extend the same courtesy to spaces she considers to be yours," he explained. "It is up to you to grant me, or anyone else, permission." Seras had a vivid memory of her earlier years as a vampire, and how he hadn't stepped a foot inside her bedroom until she'd let him come in to take a bucket of blood for himself. During her first few weeks as a vampire, he'd been—she recognized now that he'd been tapping into an incredibly rare vein of patience and (she was almost astounded to even think it) sympathy—easygoing on her, allowing her to take the time she needed to acclimate herself to the strange new world that had opened before her. Until now she'd thought that he'd only been allowing her a space of her own, but now she realized that he just had literally been unable to cross the threshold until she'd invited—well, shyly but firmly demanded—that he come in and take the blood away. Did it even matter? He'd taken advantage of it since then, at first being more commanding in his efforts to make her drink, and then tumbling into her room whenever he pleased after he'd returned just to annoy her whenever there wasn't a mission to distract his mind.

"Well," she stammered, a little flustered at the revelation, "isn't that the way it should be? After all, it's not polite to storm a lady's chambers. You ought to have some sense of etiquette left, but it's nice to know that you're forced into it whether you have some shred of decency or not."

"Do you think of yourself as a lady?" he said in answer, looking seriously at her. His question was laced with some odd undertone she didn't quite understand, so she shook it off and thumbed towards the kitchen.

"Whatever. Your coffin's in the basement, same as mine. Bedroom's upstairs." She was personally planning on returning to that comfortable sofa. "Either way, see you tonight." She turned to walk back down the hall to the sitting room.

"If that's so, where are you going?" he called after her. She turned on her heel to face him again.

"The sitting room. I was sleeping on the sofa in there. What's it to you?" Despite his obvious hunger and tiredness ,he still managed to give her an annoying smirk.

"I was planning on spending my first day in this town curled up next to my beautiful mate," he purred showily. She scowled at him, but it only made him smile wider. "Come now, little wife. You said that the bedroom was upstairs, and I doubt there's room for me on your sofa."

"You get it through your thick head right now," she fussed, all thoughts of reining in her tongue gone in the face of his teasing. "Just because we're on this mission together doesn't mean that you have any right to act as though I'm—" She paused, looking for the right word and coming up short. "This is no free pass to pretend to be the Captain. This is off limits!" she finished sternly, motioning to her body. His eyes followed her hand, lingering longer than her fingers did on her hips.

"On the contrary," he protested smoothly, "because we are on this mission together, I am your husband and you're my wife. Your body is mine and mine…" his smirk widened as he stepped towards her, "is yours. You're very welcome to touch me anywhere you please," he murmured, voice dropping as he came close enough that his boots touched the tips of her sock feet. "In fact, why don't I show these new neighbors you spoke of just how loud we can be, hmm?" She knew that he was only saying it to embarrass her, and that she shouldn't take any of it to heart. Still, she felt a hot wash of shame color her cheeks and forced herself to stand tall instead of bury her face in her hands like she secretly wanted to.

"The only way I'm touching you is a swift kick to your privates," she promised, ducking beneath his arm and heading upstairs. If he was going to play that game, so be it. But if he even _tried_ to force himself on her, well… she wasn't playing around! She didn't think he'd take it that far, and she was certain that Sir Integra would quash any little ideas that he might have and had probably given him a strict set of rules, but… he was king of loopholes. She was surprised he hadn't thought of one in order to stop and get a little 'bite to drink', as he liked to joke.

"Such coarse behavior, Police Girl!" He caught her swiftly by the wrist, twirling her until she was chest to chest with him, her arm tucked behind her back. "Unfitting for a lady." She scowled at him, showing one fang, and he laughed before letting her go. "Now, shall we?"

"If you're not going to drink the blood, you should at least sleep in your coffin to keep up your strength," she pointed out, feeling a sense of déjà vu. Now it was her telling him to drink the blood, instead of the other way around. His mocking leer fell away at her insistence and he actually looked annoyed before his usual mask slipped back into place, only the slight narrowing of his eyes giving away his displeasure.

"Very well," he conceded reluctantly. She was mentally cheering herself for convincing him to choose the coffin when he added, "Where did you say this 'cooler' was?" _Damn it!_ she cursed inwardly.

"I actually unpacked it into the fridge. There's four blood packs. Two for you, two for me until we can get regular shipments scheduled." She started up the stairs, leaving him next to the kitchen archway. "And I want O, so don't choose that one!" she called over the banister before going into the bedroom. The bedroom had been unpacked first, since Seras knew that she would be spending most of her days in the spacious bed that she'd bought for herself. For some odd reason of her own, Sir Integra thought that vampires only wanted coffins to sleep in, no matter much she argued the point. She was already trying to decide the best way to sneak the bed back into the basement at Hellsing, since the old woman couldn't lift it out herself once it was there.

She was happy that she'd chosen dark-grained wood for the bed suite, and soft, neutral maroons for the sheets. It matched the crimson of the room well, though she'd had no clue what color the bedroom would be. There was no familiar bureau to hold her clothes, but she'd bought a large chest-of-drawers that sat beneath a mirror with her pictures scattered across the top in matching black frames. Usually they sat on her vanity at home, but since she had spare room, she decided to keep the vanity she'd bought neat and tidy and pile her mementos on the chest-of-drawers instead. She gazed at the familiar faces with a smile, adjusting one of the pictures to a better angle before opening the top drawer and staring inside.

To her shock, Alucard had offered up at least half a dozen boxes of his own to the moving van when it had come to their 'old home' (really an abandoned house that Hellsing controlled the upkeep and rent of for various reasons). Well, not so much cardboard boxes like hers had been, but rather large wooden crates that the driver had gawked at for a moment before nervously hoisting them into the back of the van. They'd been unmarked, and Seras had actually been wary of what might be hiding in them when she ordered them all put into the bedroom. But when she'd opened them, she'd found surprisingly _normal_ things in there: clothes, books, dusty objects, an entire box of silver plate, and then a box of nothing but moldy dirt.

The dirt had gone down in the basement, the knickknacks and books to the sitting room where they had yet to be unpacked, but she had went ahead and folded his clothes into neat piles next to hers in the drawers. He had a drawer of shirts, of pants, and of underclothes—the latter had been, admittedly, more hastily stuffed into the drawer in her embarrassment, and she'd frantically thought about whether she should put her own underwear next to them. In the end she'd done so, only because she figured that he had somehow procured the clothes in order to keep up a believable persona in case someone came snooping around their house. She'd seen him regenerate his clothing enough times that she was fairly sure he didn't _need_ seven identical white shirts, seven identical black pants, seven identical pairs of black socks, etcetera. Hopefully he'd never open the drawer, and if he did… well, hopefully he wouldn't say anything, or take an extra peek at her undeniably plain-Jane white matching undergarments.

She pulled her favorite sleep shirt out of the top drawer and shook it out, looking fondly at the oversized, ratty piece of cloth. It was nearly twenty years old, and was showing its age, but she'd worn it down to a soft consistency. Looking back in the drawer, she hastily pulled out a pair of baggy exercise shorts as well; it wouldn't do to wear just a shirt and underwear if she had to sleep with someone else. Her modesty wouldn't allow it, no matter how much Alucard might like to get a look at her legs. He might not have been as mortifyingly loud as Pip, but she knew that he would still get as much of an eyeful as she'd allow and that was bad enough.

Throwing the clothes over her shoulder, she retraced her steps to the bathroom and ducked to avoid the hanging chandelier, not wanting to get another mouthful of dust. Grabbing her toothbrush from where it sat in a little bowl next to the faucet, she brushed her teeth, her hair, and washed her face before closing the door and undressing. She tossed her clothes into a laundry basket next to the door, stooping to pick up her socks when her 'laundry ball' hit the rim instead of falling directly into the basket as it should've. _I've gotten out of practice, now that all my clothes go into the laundry chute at home_. _Also, I need to shine these mirrors sometime tomorrow. This one looks awfully dingy._

Walking back into the bedroom, she found Alucard staring down at the drawer, which was still open. He seemed to be contemplating something, but looked up as she walked in. His brows rose as he took in the sight of her mismatched shorts and sleep shirt, but she ignored him and instead walked over calmly to close the drawer, taking care not to catch her fingers in the process.

"You didn't want any color other than white?" she asked, moving past him to better fix the heavy blackout curtain she'd hung on the curtain rod. It kept out the sun and made the room a dark haven for her to sleep in. "You didn't pack any vests either, I noticed. Or PJs."

"PJs?" he repeated incredulously. She tugged the hem of her shirt.

"You know, clothes to sleep in." She shrugged. "I thought you only brought those for show, though. I mean, you can just dress yourself in whatever you like with your shadows, right?" She threw back the sheets and hopped on the bed, laying back with a sigh and letting her head flop onto one of the pillows. "Ooh, so nice," she sighed happily, stretching out and letting her back decompress.

"I don't have clothes to sleep in," he explained to her, and she cracked open one eye to see him watching her expectantly. _He wants me to get flustered and shout about how he can't sleep next to me in the buff_ , she thought shrewdly. _I'm not going to let him get the best of me._

"Then I guess tomorrow we'll go buy you some, after we visit the Head Office." She tucked her legs beneath the sheets, relishing the cool, crisp feel of them against her bare calves. _Oh, I do_ _ **love**_ _this bed_. "I wanted to visit downtown anyway and explore."

"We're not here to explore." She closed her eyes again, relaxing further into the mattress.

"Fine, then we should go downtown to get a feel for the location and… and scope out potential sites for criminal activity," she drawled in a boring monotone. "Call it what you want, it's still exploring. And I expect you to come with me to at least one of those restaurants I saw," she added haughtily. "If you insist on being my husband, you better damn well act like one and not make me go everywhere by myself. I expect a date night."

"Date night?" he laughed mockingly. "Just downstairs you were insisting that I was taking advantage of the situation, and now this? My, my; I didn't realize that you had become such a hypocrite. I believe that courting is just as insinuating as fucking, my dear."

"Excuse me?!" She popped up like a cork, glaring at him. "You had better rethink that! For your information, you're supposed to do the dating _before_ you jump into bed with someone, so that you get a chance to know them!"

"I know you," he countered stubbornly, leaning against the chest-of-drawers and unlacing his boots. He pulled them off and tossed them to the side, where they landed pell-mell against the wall.

"You do, do you?" She crossed her arms. "What's my favorite color? Favorite movie? Favorite food?"

"You can't even eat food anymore," he pointed out.

"Favorite blood type, if you want to be specific," she amended cooly. "What was my very first job? Where did I go to secondary school? Can you answer any of those?" He scowled at her, but she ignored the warning expression with a toss of her head. "Of course you can't. You hardly know more about me than _I_ know about _you_."

"Make your point, Police Girl," he growled, yanking at his belt. He managed to separate it from his pants and he tossed it into the air, where it melted into shadowy mist before it had time to reach the ground.

"My point is that if you even meant to really—sleep with me—you'd have to get to know me first. I'm not a _hussy_ ," she said proudly. "I have standards, and even you'd have to meet them in order to—"

"Are you challenging me?" he chuckled, unbuttoning his shirt.

"What?! Well, I—no… not exactly…."

"I say that you are." He peeled the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor where it remained in a crumpled heap instead of dissolving into shadow. "You are challenging me to meet your so-called lofty goals for a lover." He smirked. "And here I thought that there was no hope," he jeered with false dejection.

"There isn't any," she snapped, lying back down with her arms still crossed. "No man's met them yet, and I've had plenty to try." Alright, perhaps by plenty she meant four, but that didn't matter at the moment.

"I'm not like most men."

"I know; you're worse." She let out an icy laugh of her own. "That's why there's really no hope for _you_. Hell would freeze over first." The bed creaked as he crawled onto the other side and she automatically scooted as far to the left as possible in order to put space between them. Peering at him out of the corner of her eye, she saw that he kept his pants and socks on. Well, as long as he stayed somewhat dressed, she could ignore the rest… right?

"The devil should find himself a coat then." He lay flat on his back next to her, on top of the sheets with his hands folded demurely over his stomach. She felt his eyes on her as he waited for a response, but she merely flopped over onto her stomach and wormed her arm beneath the pillow. "Good day, my Seras Victoria."

"'Night, you prick."

* * *

 **Afterword:** We all know that Alucard can't ignore a challenge! Even though Seras… really didn't… give him much of one… And, while for us it would be a cinch to learn about someone (for some of us, at least), getting into her good graces is going to take more than he thinks!


	2. I Hate You, Darling

To be properly—for lack of a better word— _assimilated_ into the community, both Seras and Alucard had to report first thing in the evening to the Head Office of Community Affairs (or HOCA, as the reminder email stated in its opening address). The youth of the moving company had also said something about this, offering her the friendly advice to get there as early as possible. This in itself wouldn't have been too bad, had she only herself to worry about. But there was the small fact of getting Alucard up and ready to face a long wait as well. With his impatient nature, she knew that it was easier said than done.

By the time she had dragged him to the bus stop, she was already nearing the end of her patience. He'd insisted on arguing with her that 'his way' was not only faster, but less of a hassle and generally better overall. That was well and good when one could be both everywhere and nowhere, but regular people—supernatural or not—took the bus. And, she argued back, for once in her life she wanted to be just as _regular_ as everyone else. She missed the mundane nature of normal life, of queues and rainchecks, people-watching and jostling for a prime position on the metro, traffic jams and unavoidable detours. What was life when a private helicopter could bypass any road trouble, when status alone bumped you to the front of the line and everything was always available? Boring, that's what it was.

But trying to explain that to a man who'd never went a day without being waited upon was a chore in and of itself, and they had to be at the office at 8:00 pm.

Thankfully, despite his insistence he was too exhausted to argue for long. He'd not gotten more than a mere few hours of sleep before she'd been shaking him awake and imploring him to get dressed so that they could make it on time. The remainder of the blood she'd brought to tide them over had been little more than a quick snack; it was just enough to whet the pallet, and while she was uncomfortable with the lack of a proper breakfast, she knew it had to be ten times worse for him. It was a godsend that he was even semi-coherent.

He was even grumpier than usual, but she still managed to get him dressed and them both down to the bus stop with minimal grumbling on his part. She noticed that he perked up slightly while studying the map of the routes on the side of the station's bench, carefully reading the arrival times with an expression on his face that she knew well: curiosity.

There was only one other vampire at the stop besides, them: a tall, broad-shouldered man that looked very odd in casual business wear, his suit jacket slung over his shoulder. He glanced sideways at them, frown half-hidden by his neatly trimmed beard, and when he caught Seras's eye he turned to face ahead stoically and didn't look their way again.

Seras stood closer to Alucard, hands in the pockets of her jacket; just because the chilly winds of the April night didn't affect her didn't mean that she wanted to feel it on her bare hands. She let his body block most of the wind, debating on whether to pull the fur-lined hood over her head until the bus came. The silent vampire didn't seem to notice the cold, and neither did Alucard, though the latter was admittedly fully engrossed in the sprawling map of the community. Seras looked up at it as well, her eyes following the path of the buses and mentally combining the names of destinations with what the young man had told her yesterday.

When the bus turned the corner, the main waved the tail end of his suit jacket and it slowed to a stop for them. Boarding first, he slapped a card—ah, so one could buy metro cards here, Seras noted with a sense of relief—over the scanner and let it beep before moving onto the bus fully. Fishing in the pocket of her jacket, she pulled out enough to cover both her and Alucard's fare and nodded to the bus driver before hopping aboard as well. They moved down to sit on a bench near the rear, Seras automatically grabbing the brass bar next to her as she plopped down with a sigh and leaned her head back against the window. The bus was empty, thankfully, and the world was quiet save for the sound of the hydraulics as it began to move.

"Police Girl." She cracked one eye to see him staring at her intently.

"Hmm?"

"The man before you did not pay." She turned her head to look fully at him.

"Yes he did. He paid with the card." She almost laughed as his brow wrinkled while processing the information.

"That is the same as paying on the computer, isn't it?"

"Sort of. That card's only good for the bus. It's still basically the same thing." She sat up in the seat, continuing in a low voice. "See, the scanner reads his card and takes the money out automatically. You have to put more money on it when you run low, or sometimes you can pay a fee every month and get as many rides as you want. It depends on how often you ride."

"I see." He looked quite serious, for such a run of the mill conversation. "Again with the credits," he mumbled, almost to himself, and she had to giggle at that. It had taken her nearly a full night of explaining to get him to understand how a credit card worked. He just _couldn't_ understand how you were still paying with money, even though you didn't have any money in your hand to give to the cashier. Even when she had tried to elaborate on how credit and banks worked, he still didn't get it.

 _Police Girl, this makes no sense. If you do not, then who gives them the money?_

 _The_ _ **bank**_ _does._

 _But the bank is for your money. You have to take it out of the bank to give it to the people._

 _They do it automatically, with computers. I told you this._

 _But_ _ **how**_ _?_

 _I don't know how! They just… they just do!_

Never before had she wanted to rip her hair out, but finally after a lot of repeating conversation and a detailed diagram drawn on paper, she'd gotten the basics across to him. It often took her by surprise, how oblivious he was to the way the world worked, and how inquisitive he actually was when he had to learn something he didn't know. It was like watching a child in school learning a new concept that interested them, and that they were excited about.

 _Really,_ she often thought to herself, _I guess he never had a reason to know._ He didn't need to use computers or credit cards on a daily basis. He had no interest in television, smartphones, or video games, other than asking about how they worked. But was still just so entertaining to see him confused about things that Seras would have thought were common knowledge, had she not known him.

"What does that sign mean?" he asked, pulling her out of her thoughts. She followed his gaze to see a sign with a cartoon bus driver saying "Inquire about Transfers!"

"If you have to change busses for some reason, they can transfer your money to the next bus so you don't lose any," she clarified. "But I guess you have to ask them, or remind them at any rate." The bus stopped again and a crowd of people got on, filling the seats with only one or two free. A teenager with a chain running through several holes in his ear fell into the seat next to Alucard, chewing gum. He looked over, his black lipstick glinting in the light from the windows, and winked at Seras before pulling headphones up over his ears and bobbing his head in time with a beat she could barely hear. Alucard growled at him, but it did no good; she scooted against the bar, yanking him closer to her. He slid easily on the seat, and she couldn't help but laugh again when he looked down at her in mingled anger and surprise.

"Remember the mission," she whispered to him, able to cover her words more easily with the soft din of conversation all around them. If he took his anger out on the everyday rudeness of the citizens around him, their mission would be for naught and they would have failed Sir Integra. She'd relayed this mission to them as one of highest importance, not to be taken lightly. _If anything, this little experience might teach him how good he's had it for so long, being royalty._ She stared at him a moment, until he arched a brow at her in question. _No, it won't. Who am I kidding?_

At the next stop even more people piled on, and she could see that he was uncomfortable at the very least. They were all pressed together, a couple leaning against his knees as they held the straps above their heads and almost refusing to move no matter how much he shifted against them. A teeny old lady tottered on, leather handbag in hand, and Seras stood automatically to offer her seat. Alucard glared at her, but she ignored him as she waved away the granny's protests.

"No, please. I insist."

"It's not as though I'm going to take a tumble and break my hip," the woman said, but sat down and smiled toothlessly at her. Seras took a moment to wonder how the woman drank blood with no fangs to bite into a throat, but then she grew so amused at the thought of vampiric false teeth that she had to hide her grin in the shoulder of her jacket and make it seem as though she were muffling a cough. "What's with that long face of yours, sonny?" She looked up to see the granny squaring off with Alucard, who was glowering at her.

"Don't mind him," Seras sighed, mouthing 'mission!' at him over the lady's head.

"Is he yours, dearie?" The woman peered through her bifocals at him, and despite Seras's misgivings she found herself nodding, playing along for Sir's sake. "Well! With such a pretty mate like that, you really shouldn't be frowning. It'll ruin your complexion, sonny."

" _Is that so_?" Alucard sounded as though he was physically holding himself back, and Seras toed his ankle with her boot. His eyes shifted to her, but just as quickly were back on the old woman, effectively dismissing her. The bus hit a bump and they all were flung backwards, the teenager on his right sprawling into his shoulder. Alucard snarled and the teen caught the look on his face even with the headphones; he froze like a deer in headlights before paling and throwing himself back towards the prettish woman on his other side.

"Why, when _my_ mate was around—" The lady adjusted her glasses. "Well… if I were you, dearie," she said instead, "I'd give him a swift kick in the trousers when he gets this way. It's the best cure for a sullen face, mark my words. Front or back—either way; take your pick." She hooted at her own joke and then looked around before reaching into her handbag and pulling out knitting needles, getting to work without another word. Thankfully, the bus ride passed without any other incident, and it wasn't too long before they stopped in front of a squat three-storied building with a large red HOCA emblazoned on the top.

"Was that so bad?" she muttered to him as they alighted from the bus and it rumbled off down the street.

"Too crowded." They began up the long sidewalk towards the windows gleaming in the moonlight. "But I suppose it's less personal than riding post. At least you're not expected to converse with everyone." That was the Alucard way of saying that it interested him, even if it wasn't high on his list of enjoyable things. "But it's slower," he added immediately after. "The stops take too long. We could have made it in less than a minute if you'd just let me do it, Police Girl." She shrugged and checked her wristwatch—8:45. Tsking, she had to give him credit. Maybe the bus was a slow way to drive, but looking around she was happy they'd taken it. She didn't see any parking spots around, so taking the car wouldn't have been a worthwhile endeavor. They would have still had to walk. _There must be a parking garage somewhere down the street._

The foyer was plate glass and sparkling fountains, fake rubber plants standing at attention next to a gleaming marble desk, which was unoccupied. There was a glass lift built into the wall and Seras could see people moving between floors in it high above her head. Looking around with no real clue on where to go, she was about to search the corners for a doorman when Alucard tugged at her sleeve. She turned to see a small metal plaque on the wall, tiny letters and numbers written in glittering golden script. Reading it, she realized that aside from new citizens, HOCA seemed to do plenty of other things as well.

"Department of Security and Welfare, third floor. Road Commission and Infrastructure, Department of Educational Directives, Collective Judiciary League, Intramural Affairs and Discriminations Office, Department of Agricultural and Industrial Levies— _cor_ , there's at least thirty other names on this damn thing!" she mumbled, becoming overwhelmed.

"Ask him." She turned her head to see that a young commissionaire had taken a seat at the desk, uniform buttons glistening from the skylights. He was flicking through a newspaper, lackluster red gaze locked on whatever he was reading. She shrugged again and they walked over to stand before the desk. After a terse moment where they waited to be noticed and the commissionaire steadily ignored them, she put a hand on the desk and rapped her nails against the marble.

"Excuse me." No answer. " _Excuse me._ " The eyes looked briefly at them before going back to the page.

"May I help you?" he inquired in a dull voice.

"Yes, you may," Seras said in a very smart voice, one that reminded her of something vague, from so long ago that she had put out of her mind. "You can tell me where I can go to fill out my papers." There was a soft hum of annoyance from the young man and she smacked her palm on the desk. "For _citizenship_?"

 _There_ , the memory was back—her mother, she as a four—five?—year old child, a bank teller who was more interested in her nails than her job. A twist of her heart. Did _she_ sound like her mother, now that she was an adult? She could only just remember her voice, and it was murky enough in her memory that it was hard to draw a comparison.

"What floor, if you please?!" The youth rolled his eyes, sighed.

"Third floor, Department of Immigration and Cohabitation. Have a _pleasant_ _day_." He was clearly ready for her to leave him alone with his Lifestyles section. Seras scowled and stomped over to the lift, Alucard hot on her heels. She pressed the button hard enough to dent the metal plating, seething inside. How dare that little brat just brush her off like that! He was a commissionaire, for Pete's sake; it was his _job_ to help people get to where they needed to go! Her foot tapped an impatient rhythm on the ground while she watched the lift crawl slowly but smoothly to meet them at the ground.

As the doors opened, she heard an almighty crash and spun on her heel just in time to see the commissionaire gaze stupidly at her upside-down. His chair, one leg broken in a clean snap, lay beside him. He looked so dumbfounded that she couldn't help the bark of laughter escaping from her lungs, causing his cheeks to flush darkly as he scrambled to his feet. The doors closed as he lifted the chair, scratching his head and upsetting his bellboy hat as he looked at the broken leg.

"Did you do that?" she asked Alucard quietly.

"Do what?" he replied smoothly, and she glanced up to see a smirk written across his face. Clearly, he also found the boy's abrupt descent amusing. She pressed the button for the correct floor, going over the incident in her mind. That chair leg was broken a little too cleanly for her liking. It was hard for her to believe that he had nothing to do with it. She studied him, waiting for the mask to crack, but it never did.

"Thanks." Their eyes met as the lift began to move and his widened, lips turning in a small frown. "That was good of you." Perhaps under normal circumstances, she might have been angry at him taking matters into his own hands. But that little snot deserved it, and the karma enacted was worth seeing. She smiled, feeling something flutter deep in her chest. It was nice to have someone on her side and looking out for her, even if he went about it in an immoral manner.

"I'm not _good_ ," he sneered. "I'm a monster." His words were a warning, a subtle reminder of what everyone always said about him. For the first time, she wondered if he truly believed it as well. Sure, he said it, but there wasn't any real conviction behind the statement, was there? It sounded… empty. Empty words. She tilted her head, moving closer and bumping her shoulder lightly against his arm.

"You're a good monster." As silly as it sounded, it made sense. To her, at least. He was irredeemable, and yet he wasn't either. To be irredeemable was to be unteachable, to be unable to learn how to change. And he could change. He could learn. Sure, it was change that took years at times, but she'd seen him slowly conform, or at least barely adapt, his behavior to match what was needed of him. Maybe it was just in never showing her the full extent of how _bad_ he could be; maybe that was what made him good in her eyes. _Good enough, at least._

"That is an oxymoron," he declared, lip twisting in irritation. Did he not like her calling him good? She chuckled.

"For one thing, it's not." She shifted her weight onto one foot. "There's a Latin term for it. I can't think of it right now. Sir Integra likes to use it sometimes."

" _Contradictio in terminis_." He lowered his voice as the doors opened and they stepped out into a hallway sectioned off by arches. "But it's the same meaning when you reach the heart of it."

"Still, it's the truth," she protested. His frown deepened to an expression she knew as one of deep thought and puzzlement, often donned when he was trying to, as Pip called it, 'figure her out'. He didn't speak again and they walked to the end of the corridor, finally finding a glass door with the name of the department written on it. On the other side, the only thing one could see was a replica of the desk from downstairs—or one corner of it, at least. Muffled thumps of bass leaked from behind the glass. Opening it, the sound of swing music filled the air and they stepped inside, the door automatically swinging shut behind them.

 _My man walked out, you know that ain't right; he better watch out if I see him tonight, I said when I get low, I get high._

"All the hard luck in this town has found _meeee_ ," the woman at the desk warbled, keeping a beat with a ballpoint pen against the tower of her computer. "Nobody knows, but the troubles are all around _meeee_ , oh-oh," she sang sadly, shaking her frizzed ginger locks with a pout. She opened her eyes and saw them standing there, lipsticked mouth opening in a little 'o' as she pressed a button on the keyboard. The swing music sank to a low murmur in the background as she swiveled her chair around to face them. "Yes?" she asked politely, and Seras nearly wasted her breath complaining about the boy downstairs. She bit her tongue, knowing that it probably wouldn't do any good. But still….

"You might want to call some help for the doorman," she said, mustering up a neutral, civilized tone. "He broke his chair." She felt, rather than saw, Alucard's grin. The woman's nose wrinkled as though she wanted to laugh, but she merely nodded.

"I'll call maintenance to see about it," she promised, and added something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like "Serves him right." She stuck the pen into her curls and laced her fingers. "Is there something else I can help you with this evening?" she prompted, looking between the pair.

"We've actually come to fill out our citizenship papers," Seras explained. "I was told we didn't have to have an appointment."

"Oh, of course," the woman said, spinning around in her chair and clicking her mouse a few times before placing her fingers preemptively on the keyboard. "Last name, please?"

"Victoria." Perhaps keeping one's original surname wasn't the best thing to do when going undercover, but to her credit she'd changed their first names when filing a request for citizenship with Sir Integra. And, due to a bit of good advice from Pip (who had to take a few undercover missions during his human years), she had chosen names that sounded close enough to their own that it wouldn't catch them too much by surprise to hear.

"Ah, Sarah?" the woman clarified after a minute's worth of deft keystrokes. Seras nodded and she turned to Alucard. "What's your name, luvvie? I'll go ahead and combine your databases together to make it easier on the paperwork."

"It's Al," Seras said, before he could speak.

"Like Al Pacino!" the woman laughed, the beginnings of a second chin jiggling as she continued to type. "Oh, I see!" she exclaimed after a moment. "It's short for Al-Ale—well, how _do_ you say it?"

"Aleš," Alucard said in a perfect accent. The woman blinked at him and then her cheeks began to glow pink.

"What an unusual name," she purred, staring at Alucard over the rims of her round tortoiseshell frames. "Is if foreign?"

"Slovakian."

"Oh!" She hesitated, and then clicked the mouse again. "Well, let me get you set up then." She dug around in the drawers of her desk and began to pull out papers, sorting through them quickly. She found what she wanted and stapled them together before putting them on a clipboard and handing it over with a (thankfully not hairy) pen. "Take this through there and fill it out, luvvie," she told Seras, pointing to another glass door on the far side of the desk. "You're number #55," she added, tapping the top of the front page. "So when your number flashes on the screen, take them up to the counter and they'll send you to your case worker. Good luck and welcome to our community!"

* * *

The actual office of the department was too much like a DMV, or perhaps a tax return office. Even Seras hadn't missed the mediocrity of such a place, where wasting one's life away seemed to be the key goal. And Alucard was already impatient enough as it was.

The majority of the space was filled with a sea of white-walled cubicles, their flimsy walls not enough to stop the flood of clacking keyboards and beeping fax machines from spilling out into the rest of the room. In front of the cubicles was a small, less important desk with an equally small lady hunched over her keyboard and two rows of chairs facing each other. On one end of the chairs was a small digital board that currently read "Now Serving #32." As Seras and Alucard stepped into the room, the number 32 flicked to 33. The dozen or so vampires scattered in the chairs all looked as one down at their papers, and one weary soul stood, dragging his feet as he shuffled to the hunched girl with his clipboard. The rest let out huffs and sighs before going back to their tedium.

"Oh, joy." Seras's shoulders slumped to match the rest of the waiting. It was an almost instinctive movement, garnered from years of having to wait in soul crushing queues like these. Alucard, who most likely had never had to wait for anything in his entire existence, looked around the room before bending to speak in her ear.

"What do we do?"

"We have to wait until our number is on the screen." She pointed, the way the secretary had, to the number 55 printed on the top of their papers. Leading the way, she sat in the closest chair and directed him to sit next to her, looking down at the clipboard and clicking the pen absently.

"Police Girl."

"What?" She read the first question and dug around in her jeans pocket to find her wallet. Pulling out a scrap of paper with their new address on it, she began to fill out the form for blood delivery.

"There are 22 more numbers before ours." She was only half paying attention to him, trying to legibly print the letters. Her default handwriting was a messy, yet effective mixture of print and cursive script, so her normal print looked on par with the average primary school student's.

"Mhmm. What type of blood do you want delivered most often?" She looked down the page, where it offered seven different scheduling systems depending on personal preference and budget. "We shouldn't pick an expensive one," she muttered as an afterthought. "Don't know how much money you'll be raking in yet." That morning, they'd decided that one of them should work while the other stayed home, so that they could both investigate town happenings in different settings. Alucard absolutely refused to stay at home, so Seras was forced to play the housewife instead of—as she had hoped to do—get a job with the community police force. Still, maybe it would be a nice change to stay at home, watching the telly and going out for groceries or shopping whenever she pleased.

"We have money already," he claimed, irritated. "Police Girl, there are not 22 other people waiting."

"There never are," she agreed absently, tapping the page. "Wait, what do you mean, we already have money?" she looked at him, mind catching up to what he was saying. "We didn't bring any with us." She had prepaid cards, but this morning she'd found that she'd left them at home in her nightstand. After all, it wasn't as though she were buying things on a daily basis. He had the audacity to look offended.

" _I_ have money," he amended with a growl. Shadows flickered and then gold sat in the palm of his hand. She muffled a gasp, eyes widening at the sight of what had to have been very expensive coins. "More than enough to last a thousand lifetimes," he added, somewhat proudly.

"Fine, _you_ have money," she stated, pointing the pen at him. "But I don't. And we don't know if they take doubloons, or whatever the hell that is," she waved the coins away.

"They will," he assured her. "Vampires do not use those… banks." His nose wrinkled. "And we do not use credit, either," he pointed out. There was a short silence. "If I have money, Police Girl, then _you_ have money."

"My money's at home—"

"My money _is_ your money. All you need is to ask and you can have as much as you please." The meaning of his argument finally sunk in and she blushed, looking back down at the papers. Even as she circled a favorable option that had a variety of blood coming at a decent price, her ears still burned and she had to clear her throat two times before she could speak.

"I wouldn't feel right, taking your money without having done anything to earn it."

" _Earn_ it?" He sounded insulted. "It's your _entitlement_ as one of my blood, as my—" He cut himself off, and she heard him shift in the seat. "You do not have to earn it. You have a right to it that no one else may claim."

"Even so." She flipped the page and began to fill out information for what appeared to be ID cards. She frowned, hoping that they wouldn't take her picture. She was dressed very casually, compared to what she might have done had she known photos would be shot. She peered at Alucard out of the corner of her eye, dressed in his normal black pants and white button-up shirt. She had convinced him to leave the vest, coat, and cravat at home to stay inconspicuous, as well as throw any scent off their trail. That red outerwear of his was very distinctive, and they had no clue if anyone were around that might recognize them. As usual, his hair was short and stuck out all over the place, hanging in his eyes. He probably wouldn't care what his picture looked like.

Over an hour and a half later, the numbers had crawled up to rest at 51, and seemed to stick there. The standard business clock on the wall ticked with an uncomfortable slowness, and Seras noticed that the minute hand would stick at the 7 for two clicks before continuing every time it moved around the clock. The secretary at the desk was still hunched over, but now she was reading a tabloid instead of working at her computer. The only two other people left waiting were clearly a couple and dressed, as far as Seras was concerned, as matching mimes. Perhaps they thought they were beatniks ripe for a coffee scene with their black berets and striped shirts, but they lacked only white face paint to equal a silent performer's stature.

Seras amused herself with staring at them for a while, but then the female of the two noticed her and she was forced to look elsewhere. They weren't that interesting anyway, aside from the clothing. The digital numbers _finally_ switched to 52 and the couple rose to move to the desk, leaving them the only two left in the waiting area.

"This is absurd." Alucard's hands were gripping the arms of his seat and she placed her own on the closest one, fingers tightening around the wrist in a subtle effort to rein him in.

"Not much longer, now," she murmured in what she hoped was a soothing tone. "There's only three more numbers."

"There are no more waiting!" he snarled at her, causing the secretary to glance at them sharply with pursed lips before returning to her tabloid. "I refuse to put up with this—"

"I get it, but there's nothing we can do!" she argued in a hushed tone, leaning in close. "We have to wait just like everyone else; we're not special guests here or anything. You can't just cut to the front of the queue without a good reason, and being _impatient_ is not one," she finished quickly, seeing him open his mouth to respond. He stood, with her still clinging to his wrist like a child. "Sit down!" she hissed, sparing a glance at the secretary to make sure she hadn't noticed.

"I only want to ask her how long we have left," he explained in a calm voice that was eerier to hear than if he had spoken with rage or malice.

"No, you're not going to do that, _sit down_!" She was talking as loud as she dared, yanking hard on his arm. She heard it pop and he glared down at her before forcing it back into its socket as though it were no big deal. "Don't you _dare_ make a scene!" she threatened, fangs on full display. It was a godsend that the secretary was paying no attention to them.

"I won't." She didn't believe him for one instant.

"You're going to get us thrown out," she warned. "And then what? We'll be back at square one." He looked down his nose at her, smiling one of his creepiest smiles. Her blood ran cold and she tightened her grip on his wrist instinctively.

"I only want to talk."

"Don't," she pleaded in a whine. "Look, if you just sit down, then… then…" She wracked her brain for some incentive that he might accept. It was hard—it wasn't as though he were a child that could be placated with promises of ice cream for good behavior.

"I will _not_ sit down." Fury broke through the calm mask, flitting across his face before he regained control. "My patience is worn thin and I've been pushed to my limits. They have wasted my time here already. I want to see how much more of the night they were planning on claiming from me."

"Do you not realize people go through this every day in the real world?!" She was still whispering, but she had risen from her seat as well to face him in a silent challenge. . "Until you turned me, I spent hours of my life wasting away in places like this. It's just how it is. This is how it has to be."

"Somehow I don't believe that," he growled.

"Look, if you just keep it down until our number is called, then… then I won't make you come to town tonight. We can wait until the weekend or something." She exhaled in disappointment, having wanted to see the town itself. But if it made him sit down and shut up, she was willing to forgo the pleasure. "You can have the rest of the night to yourself to make up for it."

"Is that so?" he drawled, bending down to meet her at eye level. She stared back at him, not cowed by the sudden closeness. It wasn't until their noses brushed that she took a step backwards and put some distance between them. "And what will you do with your time, then?" he asked, his false calm morphing into a mocking sneer.

"Finish unpacking, or watch the telly." She shrugged it off, sitting back down and crossing her legs. "Whatever I like, I guess. There's lots of things to do around the house." He paused and then sat back beside her, elbow resting on the arm of her chair as he continued to watch her face for… for _what_? She kept an eye on him in her peripherals, not trusting to turn her head too far and let him out of her sights.

"Sounds like a waste of time to me," he chuckled. She felt something on her leg and jumped in her seat, looking down to see his long fingers tapping her thigh, thumb rubbing over a stringy spot that hadn't fully opened into a hole yet. She smacked them away but he put his hand even higher, reaching dangerous territory. She felt the heat of his hand through her jeans and glared at him with full force.

"What do you think you're doing?" she snapped.

"Touching my wife." Oh, she just wanted to _punch_ him so badly! "After all, with such tight pants on, her legs look so…" he trailed off, eyes burning a trail as they moved to her boots and back up. "Delectable." She forced a charming smile on her face, grabbing his hand and squeezing it for all she was worth. She felt the bones snap easily, heard the muffled crunch, but his expression remained unchanged. If anything, his eyes only darkened further with hunger.

"If this is your idea of _seducing_ me," she muttered through her clenched teeth, "you're failing miserably."

"Then perhaps a kiss," he leered, quickly closing the space between them once more. She held up their hands between their faces, her fingers threading through his limp, broken ones. To a casual observer, they were merely engaging in light-hearted PDA, though in reality they were in the midst of a fierce standoff.

"Save it for home, _darling_."

"Mm, is that a promise?" She leaned closer, her face still the picture of cheer.

"My only promise is when we get back to the manor, I'm going to make sure Sir Integra chains you upside down in the dungeons for a _year_ without food."

"Oh, how I'll suffer," he replied sarcastically. Then, "Though the thought that you'd imagine me in chains is rather heartwarming. Do you have a _sadistic_ streak, Seras Victoria?" His voice swelled with false virtue. "How shocking."

"Well, I do feel rather like chopping a few of your limbs off with a rusty blade, so maybe I do." Her hand was squeezed as it healed in the span of a second, and he observed their linked fingers with a grin before nipping at her wrist. By the time she'd realized what he'd done, he was back in his previous position.

"Word to the wise, my dear: don't play rough with me unless you're ready to carry through. I just might enjoy it too much." She scowled and turned her head quickly to see that the secretary was still oblivious to them. Her eye caught the counter as it turned from 54 to 55 and she stood abruptly, upsetting his position on her chair.

"Look, it's our number," she pointed out to him in a louder than normal voice, eyes imploring him to behave. "Let's go." She picked up the clipboard from the vacant seat next to her and walked without looking back, expecting him to follow as she held the board out to the secretary, interrupting the woman's perusal of an article on London's hottest men.

* * *

 **Afterword:** One of my favorite things about  Dracula (the book) is that the Count is incredibly interested in things. When he wants to know all about England, he buys books, studies the language, asks a thousand questions about culture, etc. It tickles me to no end to think that Alucard has that curiosity about the world and new things he's never encountered before, and ends up asking Seras questions (which she's actually more than happy to answer for him).

TL;DR: Count Dracula is a weeb for England.

 **Addendum** : You ever notice how no matter what your number is at a government office, there are less people waiting than there are numbers to go? It's all a scheme to kill you slowly with impatience.

Aleš: a-le-sh.


	3. It's too Easy to be Sleazy

Their caseworker was six feet of tanned skin, lean muscle, and shining teeth that went by the name of Nick. He was all smiles, Gen. Y attitude painted across his features and evident in the tattoos visible beneath the collar and rolled sleeves of his white business shirt. Deliberately mussed hair, two holes in each ear ( _sans_ earrings) and a maroon sweater vest visually helping the taper of his torso. He reached out to shake their hands as he introduced himself, gold Rolex glinting in the fluorescent lights.

Seras began to regret being _Mrs._ Victoria for the umpteenth time in two nights. She briefly considered whether Alucard would protest an annulment of their fake marriage. _Most likely_. Still, there was no rule saying that a married woman couldn't flirt, was there? Older women did it all the time, and it would pester the living hell out of her 'husband', which was only proper karma for his impatience in the waiting area.

"Nice to meet you," she purred, tilting her head with a look that made even the hardened Captain Bernadotte flush like a schoolboy. She was pleased when the youth turned a dark shade of pink as well, shifting his weight as he grasped her hand and let it go quickly—too quickly. _He's uncertain._ She smiled inwardly, happy that she still had it after years without practice.

"Yes, and this is…." He trailed off, a spark of hope flickering to life in his eyes. "Your husband?"

"I am." The tone left no room for doubt. Seras noticed his hand tighten punishingly around the caseworker's, but let go before the man had time to notice the pain.

"Pleasure, sir." He subtly shook his hand at his side, the 'strictly business' smile never fading from his lips. "This way, then. I'm sure you're both raring to get started."

"Humph." Alucard allowed her to push her way between the two of them, following Nick down the labyrinth of cubicle walls until they reached an opening just as unassuming as the others.

"In here, please." The seats matched those in the lobby, but without much of the wear and tear. There hadn't been enough rumps pushing down the faux leather to ruin it, and the studs weren't _as_ tarnished without thousands of fingers following them in slow circles as they waited in a hellish queue. She noticed the caseworker's cerise gaze remaining on her, and her alone, as they all sat: they in the two chairs, him across the desk in a mesh office chair that had been forcefully reclined one too many times. "You've got your papers?" he asked, his eyes dropping from her face to the clipboard on her lap.

"Of course; here." She handed them across before crossing her legs at the ankles and resting her hands demurely in her lap. Alucard rested one leg on the other, his fingers lacing as he leaned to brace his left arm on the seat. She peered at him out of the corner of her eye, trying to keep her focus on him and the caseworker simultaneously. He always leaned to the left, she realized after a moment. _Is he… is he left-handed? I never thought to pay attention to something like that…._ He wielded guns with both hands, but he'd only had the one on the night he'd shot her. Had he had the gun in his left, or his right? She tried to think back, her mind moving sluggishly through the years. It had been so long ago now…. Yet not long at all, was it?

Giving up after thinking for a full five minutes and finding no conclusive evidence in her memories, she turned her mind instead to the study of the man's cubicle. A person's workspace was their home away from home, and much could be gleaned from a few moments of quiet observation. She remembered the crowded desks at D-11 HQ, her teammates' spaces rife with family photos, candy in the drawers, sports team calendars and important events tacked up right next to memos about the newest string of West London murders.

Nick was a fan of the Leicester Lions, apparently. The red-eyed lion leapt at her from a mug of pencils, from a sticker on the filing cabinet, from a pendant adorning the top of his bulletin board. There were papers nearly covering everything but the lion's eyes, unorganized and spilling off the sides of the board. More papers were stacked haphazardly on the CRT screen of the desktop, on the desk itself, on the filing cabinet, sprouting like fronds from the cabinet's top drawer….

A framed image—not a photo, a _daguerreotype—_ sat next to the desktop, when it would have been more at home in a museum. It depicted a young woman of perhaps thirty, with a high forehead and tired eyes, long ringlets framing a thin, pointed face. Her collar was starched and glowed whiter than anything else in the frame. It was hard to tell from the angle that her head was turned, but her eyes might have been brown, or (as Seras well knew) a shade of dark red. She wondered if this was his master, or perhaps just a good friend. Former human family?

The caseworker was muttering under his breath in concentration, clicking rapidly with one hand while typing numbers and tabbing between pages with the other. She noticed Alucard watching his movements with a serious, inquisitive stare, eyes flickering between the mouse and what was happening on the computer screen, which was turned at an angle so that they could just see it from their position on the other side of the desk.

"Oh, um—feel free to help yourselves," he muttered absently after a moment, his finger leaving the Tab key to point at a dish on the edge of the desk, scalloped and highly feminine compared to the rest of the décor. Humans usually kept sweets in them, as a sort of sacrifice to guests in exchange for patience. She looked over the rim, expecting peppermints or even a butterscotch caramel.

She found grapes.

Disguising her surprise, she obediently picked one and popped it in her mouth with murmured thanks. She offered another to Alucard, who looked down at her as though he thought her mentally deranged before turning his attention back to the computer. Taking this as a dismissal, she grew irritated. _If you're going to be like that, then…_ she looked at the caseworker, who was now reading over the blood delivery worksheet.

The grape was good, seedless and with a pleasantly wet crunch against her back teeth. The juice filled her with memories of snack time at the police station, healthy alternatives to the chocolate candies Simon would stuff into his face by the handful. Grapes, or apples, a banana. She hadn't had a banana in _ages_. _Wonder if that grocer sells them?_ She took another grape, hoping that it wasn't rude to do so.

She licked her thumb subtly to get some errant juice off, the flavor rolling across her tongue. _Delicious…_ She became aware of eyes on her and glanced through her eyelashes to see the caseworker enveloped in the computer, clicking rapidly with one hand while holding the paper up to eye level with the other. Her eyes moved back down to her fingers, but she branched out with her third eye. It wasn't something she did often knowingly; usually it was more involuntary, and actually seeking it was akin to a human blinking and being aware of every movement of their lids.

Alucard was giving her the same intense, searching glare that he'd given the computer, eyes locked on her fingers. After a moment, they flitted quickly to the bowl of grapes, a small furrow appearing in his brow. She watched him from her peripherals, pretending not to notice the heavy scrutiny. She gave her thumb one last swipe with her tongue before rubbing it on her jeans, as if to get rid of any last residue. What was his game? Was he watching her, or the grapes? She wondered what furtive thoughts might be going through his mind as well. Was he considering getting a grape? She laughed to herself. Had he ever _had_ grapes before? When was the last time he ate a piece of fruit?

She pretended to just notice him, eyeing him with false puzzlement before again motioning to the grapes. 'Take one', she mouthed. A small, barely perceptible shake of his head was his answer; his nose wrinkled again in distaste. She shrugged. _Your loss_. He turned away, the furrow deepening. Curious, she bumped her knee against his, the movement unnoticed by the caseworker due to the closeness of their chairs. He turned back to her and she arched a brow. _What's wrong?_ She followed his eyes to the clock on the cubicle wall.

 _He's taking too long_. He didn't need to open his mouth for her to read the nature of the frown. It was almost silly, how well she could still read him though her mind wasn't bridged with his anymore. No, not silly… it was almost scary. It meant that she knew him _too_ well. Still…. She bumped his knee again, conveying with her eyes.

 _Give him time._ She jerked her head at their stack of paperwork. _It's a lot._ He made a derisive sound in the back of his throat, barely audible.

 _Not enough to take this long._ She knew he must be thinking about Sir Integra, and her never-ending load of paperwork. She offered him an understanding smile, allowing her expression to soften.

 _Patience._ He exhaled, not quite a sigh but still conveying annoyance. He stared at the desk, frown relaxing as he retreated into the confines of his mind. She relaxed as well, amusing herself with the muscles flexing in the caseworker's forearms. Finally, the man finished, double-checked something, placed the mouse aside, and turned to them. He rested his delectable forearms on the desk, the sound prompting both of them into attention. Alucard's legs uncrossed and she leaned forward, chin on her hand.

"Alright, time to get to some _real_ business," he joked, giving them another 1,000 watt smile. He winked at Seras, who grinned, shifting in her seat. _Not enough to show interest, but enough to get him to let his guard down._ "The house: you found everything in order? Nothing to point out?"

"No, not at all. Everything was perfect." That she could be honest about. Despite the fixing up it needed, she was more than happy with the home. Her only real issue was growing _too_ attached to it, and then having to leave it when the undercover mission was through. But she'd cross that bridge when she came to it (or burn that bridge when she crossed it, as Pip liked to joke).

"Fantastic." As cheesy as the word was in that context, he managed to make it sound truly sincere. "Won-der-ful," he drawled, with another syrupy smile directed her way. Alucard tensed next to her and she reached out without thinking, some instinctive part of her suggesting that he might be getting ready to stand. Her hand fell on his thigh and she froze, barely able to keep the serene expression on her face. _Oh, damnit._ His hand caught hers in a flash, fingers pressing hers down hard. She didn't dare look his way. The caseworker didn't look either, but his eyes held some measure of disappointment.

"Well, just in case there _is_ any problem, let me give you my card." He dug around the errant stacks of papers and eventually resurfaced with a plain business card, black on white background. She yanked her hand and he reluctantly freed it so that she could reach forward and accept the offering. "You can call that number anytime between 8:00 and 3:00. Extension 0-4-3."

"Thank you." She carefully tucked the card into the inner pocket of her jacket.

"If you want to move at any point, you'll file that motion with me. You'll file most things with me, in fact. Thankfully for you," he joked, "we've got the ability to file most things over the phone and send you copies via post for your signature." He paused, the silence stretching, and then cleared his throat. "Erm, now… Mr. Victoria." A beat passed before Alucard lifted his eyes, and Seras felt the sweat rise on the back of her neck. _Pay attention, that's you!_ "It's time for you to choose an occupation. What was the last position you held?"

She could _see_ the words turning themselves over in his mind, the sides of his mouth turning down more and more with each passing second. She was at a loss for words; what _could_ you call his job at Hellsing? Pest control was too menial. Operative, too vague. To say he worked for the army would be confusing, as Hellsing didn't technically exist in terms of the official militia. He worked for the government?

"Pro bono." She nearly fell out of her seat. _That's too clever! Why'd you make it sound like it was illegal?!_ Those forearms tensed and the caseworker sat up straighter, mouth opening wordlessly before he found his winning smile once more.

"O-oh! And… erm, before that?" Alucard thought, foot tapping.

"Pioneer." _Would you_ _ **stop**_ _that!?_ She barely restrained the urge to jump up and slap a hand across his mouth. He barely tilted his head, as though her words had somehow made it to his mind even without a link. "Pilgrim."

"As in… American?" he stammered, looking helplessly at Seras. She smiled, though she doubted it was as smooth and charming as his.

"No. But I knew an American once." Nick chewed his lip, grabbing for his desk drawer. Seras flinched, thinking he would reveal a gun or call security on Alucard for sounding like a veritable lunatic, but he merely pulled out a tablet and powered it on.

"Okay, let's try something else. What are your skill sets? What level of school did you complete?"

"Excuse me?" Dismissing the man entirely, he turned to Seras with an expectant look.

"He wants to know if you're a university graduate," she explained, trying to keep her patience.

"No." He turned back to Nick.

"Um… what schooling _did_ you complete?"

"Science, philosophy, astronomy, the arts…." He trailed off musingly. "Religion. War tactics. Horsemanship. Archery and swordsmanship. Occult magic, astronomy… mathematics and geography." He shrugged. "I had no time to study after the age of twelve, so it's lacking." Seras's nails bit into her knees as she fought to keep the pleasant expression on her face. _Who in the hell lumps occult magic and war tactics in the same pile as science and arithmetic?!_

"I… I see." Nick tapped nervously on the tablet's glowing surface. "Erm... here." He handed it over the desk to Alucard. "I think these would be the best positions in town for you to choose from. Look over the list and tell me if you find any you're interested in." He turned back to the computer, his brow furrowing as he snuck glances at them from around the monitor. Alucard looked at the tablet, holding it in both hands before slowly raising it to eye level and looking at the underside. Then, without further ado, he held it out to her.

"Good grief," she mumbled, taking the tablet and scooting as close as she could to the arm of the chair, holding at an angle that he could see before slowly scrolling down the list. He frowned as he read the names off, and let out little grunts when he was ready for her to scroll more. She read with him, gnawing on her lip. Office labor, dispatch director, shareholder, undersecretary, investigative journalist, dental assistant, CFO… she couldn't see Alucard doing any of these!

"What is this?" He pointed to the bottom. _COO?_

"It's… um… Chief…." She wrinkled her nose, trying to think. "Chief of… no, Chief Officer… it's a businessman," she sighed, giving up. "A COO is in charge of keeping the business running properly."

"That's it." She paused, finger hovering over the blue highlighted letters. _COO? Really?_ She looked up at him, their eyes meeting. _Are you sure?_ "That's it," he repeated. _Ah, what the hell._ She clicked it before handing it back over to Nick, who looked up when she waved the tablet with a cough.

"Oh, you've—COO?" He offered a painstaking smile. "Do you have any business experience, Mr. Victoria?"

"I was a commander." He leaned back in his chair, again favoring his left side. His arm brushed against hers, warm through his clothing. "I embarked on a few successful campaigns. _While_ running a country in the meantime, I might add. For _years_." He dipped his head, looking at Nick over lenses that weren't there. "Running a business should be easy in comparison."

"I—" Nick rubbed at his chin. "Actually, you know what? I'm going to set up an interview." He tapped the tablet. "I'm no businessman, and we do normally expect at least some past experience or a degree, but I think that if you show them that same sort of determination, then… well, it can't hurt."

* * *

They left the office at a little past midnight. The streets were more active now, people rushing up and down as they hurried between buildings. There was even a crowd at the bus stop, tapping their toes and scowling at their watches.

Seras shoved the folder of copies and _more_ paperwork beneath her armpit and joined the queue, feeling the hair on the back of her neck rise as Alucard stepped too close behind her. Others seemed to feel it as well, looking at him haltingly before shuffling away and turning to their phones. He ignored them as easily as he did the soldiers at home.

"Oi." She turned back; he looked down at her. She cleared her throat, leaning over to bump her shoulder against his arm. "You, er—you did well." It was true: he'd been patient, hadn't caused a scene, and even landed a job interview—however unorthodox his resume and skill set were. "Good job."

"Hmm."

"But we're going to have to work on your interview skills tonight."

"I don't see why." She wagged a finger at him.

"You can't _scare_ them into giving you a job. Even with your creep factor, you've got to put on the charm. Remember…." She leaned in closer, lowering her voice. "Incognito, right?"

"Hmm."

"We're supposed to be—" She paused, seeing an older woman arch a brow in their direction. She smiled back, staring steadily until the woman looked away again. "We're supposed to be setting down roots." She raised her voice an octave, trying to appear the picture of a slightly nagging wife. "You can't do that if you have no money."

"I told you—" She shook her head, eyes widening as she hummed warningly. His mouth twisted and he looked properly annoyed, something she might have laughed at were she not trying to make him see the necessity of being normal for once. "As you like." His hand grabbed hers and tightened punishingly around her fingers. She squeezed back just as tightly, not cowed by the pain of her bones being crushed. She'd dealt with so much worse over the years that it was on the same level of a wasp sting: something to be avoided, but not world-shattering.

They stood demurely, waiting for the bus and trying to mash the other's fingers into a gory pulp. She felt his hand give first, slender bones snapping just audibly enough that the people nearest them turned around in confusion, looking for the source of the distinct sound. They both seemed unaffected, and after a moment the growing crowd gave up. Her fingers followed soon after, but only one or two people tried to see what had made the noise.

The bus arrived and she forced him to let go, shadows sneaking down the sleeve of her jacket to quickly heal her hand before she had to hand the fare to the driver. The bus was filling fast, and while Alucard snagged a seat she was forced to stand in front of him. As she watched, a younger couple sat on the opposite side of the bus, the girl perched shyly on her lover's lap. Alucard sneered, patting his thigh in invitation. She scowled, tossing her hair.

"Behave," she hissed. He waited until she looked back before blatantly mapping her through her coat with his eyes, lingering on her chest. She turned away, masking the movement as a need to adjust her shoe.

"The view's just as nice," he commented in a low voice. She tensed, then relaxed. Showing that his words affected her in any way—irritation or not—was a surefire ticket to a night full of teasing. "Turn to the side and let me have a VIP view." His knee nudged at her leg. She turned back to the front, lips pursed.

"We're in public," she reminded him starkly. "A real gentleman would let the lady have the seat."

"Find one and take his." Too late; he was already setting in for a good night's work. "To be fair, I offered you a seat, and you refused."

"I'm blonde, but I'm not stupid." She forced herself to pause. Retaliating like that would only make him worse. Sir Integra, despite being one of the most intelligent people she knew, hadn't figured that out yet. Yelling at Alucard did nothing. One had to fight this sort of fire with baking soda, rather than common water. "I know you can't resist that sort of temptation." He reclined as best he could on the plastic seat, grinning.

"True." He looked her over again, this time less mockingly and more appreciatively. "You have an odd habit of staying just of my grasp." He looked past her hip, and then rose to his feet in a fluid motion, offering his seat to a small child before pressing up against her, his hand covering hers on the strap. "Then again, I'm known for tenacity." She pressed her hand against his chest before she could think, pushing him back to an acceptable distance.

"Remember what I told you this earlier," she huffed, staring over the child's head. The last of the offices disappeared and were replaced with suburban streets and rich gated communities. She could see the tops of clay tile roofs as they trundled by, security guards standing watch in front of gilded gates. _A gated community inside a gated community…._ She pondered the absurdity, nearly losing focus on him.

"I remember. And you remember what _I said_."

"Hmph!"

"So callous," he chuckled. "You wound me, my dear."

"Oh, _please_."

"You don't have to beg; I'm more than willing." If they were at home, even at the townhouse, she might have ventured to slap him for that sort of cheek. _Baking soda, baking soda._ She took a breath, keeping it even and slow. _He doesn't affect me._

"How do you know you won't be the one begging?" she managed to say, injecting just enough snark that it sounded well thought out and sincere.

"Is that your style? I should have guessed."

"You do realize there are children on this bus, don't you?" She looked pointedly at the child in his vacated seat, who had clambered to his knees and had his face smushed against the window.

"A kiss, at least." He sighed in pretend melancholy. "Spare your poor husband a passing moment."

"Would you shut up!" she snarled, trying to keep her voice down. Even with the murmur of other passengers, she felt as though he were speaking loud enough for the whole bus to hear. "W-when we get home, if you'll just _be quiet._ "

"Two kisses, then, since I have to wait."

"Take your one and be grateful, you bat."


End file.
